


have faith and you will live

by kalypsobean



Category: Code:Realize ～創世の姫君～ | Code: Realize - Guardian of Rebirth (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Fantasizing, One-Sided- Character A Gets Off To Thoughts/Memories of Character B, Perfectionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:49:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23674909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalypsobean/pseuds/kalypsobean
Summary: Saint-Germain had a plan for killing Cardia. He just had to perfect it.
Relationships: Cardia Beckford/Saint-Germain
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	have faith and you will live

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HannaM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannaM/gifts).



He'd heard rumours of Isaac Beckford's experiments long before the whispers that maybe they'd been successful; he just hadn't paid attention to them - there were so many things in the world that he just filed away and rarely thought of again, things that were interesting but just not relevant, and that had been one of them, until it wasn't.

Then Isaac disappeared, Twilight grew in influence, and the whispers grew louder; Twilight's activities only served to reinforce that, and he was happy to let them lead him straight to the evidence. For it just so happened that Saint-Germain had a thief living with him, a thief that could be relied on to pursue a curiosity if it was framed just so - and the monster with poisonous skin was certainly such a curiosity. Not that he heard about it from Saint-Germain, of course, that wouldn't do; he had his secrets to keep, after all, a veneer of anonymity and an image of languorous detachment. But he was well placed to make sure Lupin overheard one thing or another, and more than capable of leaving a few papers where they might be seen... and Lupin, of course, could be relied upon to bring the experiment right to him. 

That it turned out that the successful experiment was an ethereal, mystical girl who was so delightfully innocent and trusting? That, while not unforeseen, was not something he'd fully accounted for; he'd expected his mission to end with a quick death and to watch the fallout from afar. Cardia deserved much better than that. Cardia deserved his attention and time. Cardia deserved a death that was so subtle that she wouldn't know it was coming until her eyes closed and her skin lost that translucent shimmer. 

It felt like a sign that she brought with her a stranger who seemed, for all intents and purposes, capable of telling him how he could do that. He'd planned something simple, something certain and quick and impersonal. He was, after all, adept at killing without a touch, at leaving no trace. But Cardia deserved more.

And she trusted him.

It seemed, almost, that the longer she was there, the more time he spent with her, that the world seemed to reorient itself around her - his guests' activities centred on her, and he seemed to be receiving more attention himself, both for her presence and her continuing existence. His fingers itched for fantasies he couldn't yet fulfil - he longed to touch her, to watch her react to being touched, to be the first one to trace her breast, to caress her nipples, drawing them into sensitive firmness and then taste them. And knowing that he could made it hard to not pull her into his lap and touch her through her clothes, teasing her with the feel of material sliding over her skin, perhaps even apply pressure enough to graze; the thought of how her eyes would widen and her mouth open into a pout just enough for her to need to wet her lips, the way she would blink in confusion as the pain set in and couldn't be separated from pleasure... it was only the certainty that he would not want to refrain from kissing her that stopped him. Half measures would not be enough, especially if Cardia was willing; that presented a risk of its own, and one that would be ill-taken if it led to a failure to see things through. It would only be a small thing - for him to slide his hand up Cardia's little skirt and tease her, to stroke her there until she became wet enough for him to slip his fingers inside her and curl them, bringing her close to the edge and then taking them away, making her beg for it as she leaned on him, unable to hold herself up and that fiery independent streak wholly muted as she pleaded for more of the thing she didn't have words for. But it wouldn't do, of course, if she lost control in a way he couldn't claim it for himself. The point would be for her body to betray her, for him to undo her enough that she wouldn't realise what he'd done, not for her body to betray _him_ , an unexpected reaction or uncontrolled twist, a roll of her hips at the wrong time, and he might lose his hand.

Although he did, idly, wonder if that would even work on him; it was better not to try, for this was about her, all about her, about bringing her to a pleasure so new and encompassing that she wouldn't fight back, and he could leave no trace.

And so he watched, and he waited, and he learned. He took Cardia's trust in him and built on it, preparing her for when he had the perfect idea, the perfect plan; he indulged her and held back, keeping her interested and reliant on him without giving her a reason to turn away. He told himself that the longer she stayed there, the more suspicious people would be of him if she was simply killed; even if her death was not investigated by traditional authorities, Twilight's suspicion was something he could ill afford, and her residence associated them. But if she died a death that seemed natural, a death that came from a kind of touching that those who knew of her would believe impossible...

And so he drew her closer, and encouraged her interest in him, even as he thought through his options and played them out in his mind, even as he teased her and tested her willingness for him.

Victor's testing gave him more options; he wasn't sure of whether fabric would be as viable a barrier if it was wet, so he dismissed the one where he removed her gloves and wore them as he tended her. He'd thought of that on his own, of course, before it had been settled that they were specially prepared for her; he'd imagined loosening them, finger by finger, as he kissed her hand (freely offered) and imagined her breath catching as he slid them on himself. She would arch in to each caress, her body sensitive and craving it, and he liked to imagine her crying, tears that he could collect and feed back to her as he reassured her that she would grow used to it in time, and that she'd nod, her body quivering until he held her down and made it stop. He wanted to trace the Horologium and see if it really felt like stone, if the glittering quartz would be cold next to warm skin or if it shared her pulse, if he could feel it pressing against his hand as he held her down. He'd have to restrain her somehow to be sure she wouldn't touch him back, but the image in his mind of her wrists above her head, held there with one hand as he rubbed her belly with the other, edging downward and telling her if she wanted more she had to promise to be still; he liked that one, and he pretended, sometimes, that it was her hand that brought him off, that he rewarded her for being good...

But it wasn't enough, and there was always some issue, some risk he wasn't able to take, and soon, oddly, confusingly, he began feeling conflicted; he would find himself growing hard as he planned and discarded and planned, and his fantasies grew longer, with less defined endings. And he'd be frustrated, dismissing them because they weren't enough, even his favourite ones - he liked the one where he used her body against her, had her stripped and displayed and just kept placing things on her, watching them melt away as the poison worked, watching her distress turn to arousal as her skin became sensitised to each touch, to the way metal would dissolve and drip away, sending cold, thin lines of shock over her stomach, the way wax would warm and cling before it evaporated. He wondered how long it would take for residue to form, whether he could paint her with detritus and take away her purity as he taught her that her body was capable of pleasure as well as destruction. He wished he could get her alone long enough to find the point where the poison was slow enough that he could touch her, teasing her and taunting her at the same time; dancing close with risk and playing on her concern for him until she gave in to him simply because she was tired of begging him not to touch her as her skin destroyed the barrier between them again and again. 

He only realised his window had closed when Cardia's trust in him was absolute, when the possibilities were so real that the only thing in his way was himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt _I'd also be into something pre-route that's dubcon in the sense that Saint-Germain is already planning her death but Cardia has no idea._


End file.
